Filed under: On the House | Tags: fire, life, luck, morning, San Diego, thoughts
This morning’s drink: Coffee.
There’s something interesting about being in the middle of the San Diego fires and being completely safe. A lot of the people I work with were evacuated yesterday, or at least on standby, yet I live close enough to downtown and the coastline that I’m pretty much in 0% danger. Obviously, this is a good thing, especially since I’ve already moved my apartment three times in the last month, but I found that I was almost embarrassed to say where I lived. I listened to the radio all day anxiously, but it was almost like I didn’t have the right. The anxiety swirling around this place is almost off-limits, and my opportunities to empathize are very limited.
At the most, I can share the inconvenience of smoke inhalation with everyone around here, and the most I can do to contribute my good fortune is to donate my money to the cause. However, the fires haven’t made me suddenly more prosperous, and I can’t really volunteer because I’m expected at work (since I don’t have to evacuate), and they want all “non-essential” people off the roads. I’m thinking I’ll go donate blood today, because they’re asking for extra donations, but even that feels so menial.
I feel so sad for these people who have lost their homes – from the incredibly rich people of Rancho Santa Fe to the suburbians of Poway. But how will my one pint of blood start to ease their pain? They’ve said that even people to listen can help by acting as make-shift shrinks. Still, why would someone want to spill their sorrows on the lucky girl who dodged the bullet? If I’m getting scorn at work for being so safe, how are these strangers going to take me?
I feel like I’m in sort of a funny place. I guess I should just ignore what everyone else thinks and move my little golden child self to go out and help. Although San Diego is all about taking care of number one, the people here are amazing when all the number ones are threatened. In the end, to be able to participate in the good of SD is probably a much rarer event.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: charmed, fires, life, luck, perfection, random, Rogue, San Diego, thoughts
Tonight’s Drink: a 40 oz. of Dead Guy Ale.
My mom once said that I live a charmed life. It really stuck with me, probably because I am so lucky. Don’t get me wrong, I work very hard. But there is a sheen to everything I have. My adorable cheap apartment which happened to be completely clear of all eight fires in San Diego; my fabulous teal mustang convertible stripped directly from a Vanilla Ice video; my extremely comfortable life; great friends; gracious ex-boyfriends; a job that I have fallen in love with again.
So how’d I get so lucky? The truth is, I don’t know. Is it because my grandma Jiggy used to burn ja sticks for me? Maybe, but I don’t really know a lot about those. Is it because I’m a little bit Italian and I’ve had my gold horn since I was a little girl? It’s possible. Is it because I pray? It could be, but probably not since I don’t think desparation prayers really count. Is it that I’m doomed to die young and I’m just collecting all my good fortunes at a faster rate? Hmm.. moving on.
When I was in fifth grade, I thought that the only thing a person needed to be perfect was to be the nicest person in class. So I expended all of my energy on being friendly, humble, generous, loyal, etc. (you can tell that, at that time, I watched a lot of after school specials). When I got into high school, I discovered that all the time I spent trying to be as minimally grating and “perfect” as possible made me the most boring person on Earth. But being the human equivalent of Taco Bell mild sauce is a really difficult thing to bounce back from. So instead of trying to bounce, I did everything I could to blend in more. I’m not a tomboy, but I wore hanes tshirts and Levi’s with men’s dress shoes for the last half of my high school days. I’m lucky I had such great girlfriends, otherwise I probably would’ve just wilted away.
See… charmed.
The Santa Anas are blowing hard as the smoke ushers in the evening, and even in my charmed state I can’t help but wonder what I would take with me if I did have to evacuate my home. The newscasters just told a story about a man standing on the edge of Lake Arrowhead near the smoldering ruins of his $1.6 million dollar home, screaming to the sky, “I think that’s enough for one man.” I can’t help but think that there’s a double meaning to that statement. Obviously, the burden of loss is a huge one… but at the same time, how much do you need to have enough? The answer, obviously, is different for everyone.
When I close my eyes, there is a slight deliverance in imagining my apartment engulfed in flames. All of the sentiments, the pictures, trinkets, blankets, books, plastic bags, clothes, carpet, shoes, movies, face cream.. everything. All of my past up in smoke. The fruit of my charms. Of course, I can’t afford it, but I think the sense of relief would be euphoric. Just for a second.
